Showing posts with label Bill DeMott. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bill DeMott. Show all posts
Thursday, January 1, 2026
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
Mauro Ranallo
***MAURO RANALLO***
In the 35 years The Wrestling Observer Newsletter has been
giving out annual awards, WWE been the recipient of Most Disgusting Promotional
Tactic a record 19 times. In 2017 amidst the mistreatment of Smackdown
announcer Mauro Ranallo, WWE could be shooting for lucky number twenty. Since
this is an issue that involves both bullying and mental illness, it’s a story
that’s close to my heart as I have experienced both in my younger days. Even
people who don’t watch professional wrestling can relate to Mauro’s story in at
least one or two ways.
Mauro Ranallo has been the lead announcer for WWE Smackdown
since January of 2016. Week after week, he’s done a phenomenal job with his
puns, encyclopedic knowledge, undying energy, and overall intelligence. It’s
because of these factors that he has won The Wrestling Observer Newsletter’s
award for Best Television Announcer for two years in a row (2015 for his work
in Japanese wrestling and 2016 for his work in WWE). If he wanted to, he could
rack up a huge winning streak for that award until the end of time itself.
Unfortunately, Mr. Ranallo is also bipolar. It’s a condition
he’s had since he was 19 years old. The trigger that set him off was the death
of his best friend in 1989 due to a heart attack. Mauro has never attempted
suicide before, but he’s had suicidal thoughts. Ever since managing to cope
with his disorder, he’s been an outspoken supporter of the mentally ill
community and wishes to end the negative stigma surrounding it. As someone with
autism and schizophrenia, I look up to this guy every time he speaks on the
subject of mental illness. The fact that he can work as hard as he does while
still holding bipolarity at bay speaks volumes.
With this much talent and humanity under his belt, you would
think that WWE would want to protect this guy as much as possible. But instead,
fellow Smackdown announcer John “Bradshaw” Layfield uses the show Bring It to
the Table to belittle Ranallo for celebrating his winning of the Best
Television Announcer award on Twitter. It should also be known that John
Layfield won the Worst Television Announcer award in 2014 and 2015, and with
good reason. Layfield has also reportedly picked on Ranallo backstage multiple
times and triggered his bipolar disorder to where he wants to quit WWE.
The hashtag #FireJBL has been circulating around the
internet ever since this story made it into mainstream media coverage. While
firing him would be an easy solution, JBL is just a small part of a much bigger
problem within WWE’s corporate culture. Pro-wrestling is a business where the
guys on top try to test the toughness of the guys down below on a frequent
basis and bullying is the way they do it.
JBL has been accused of grabbing people’s asses, stealing
passports, throwing luggage of other wrestlers out on the curb, screaming at
them until they cried, stuff like that. His behavior is encouraged by people
like Vince McMahon (CEO), Triple H (Vince’s son-in-law), and Stephanie McMahon
(Vince’s daughter). Even if the older guard dies of natural causes, there will
still be other people in the company who condone this kind of behavior on a
daily basis as a way of “weeding out the weak”.
But seriously, what purpose does all of this harassing
behavior have other than satisfying sadistic urges? If you really wanted to
test the toughness of someone in WWE, pay attention to their body of work. Can
they take bumps effectively? Can they endure the grind of world travel? Can
they train hard enough to perfect their crafts? I believe WWE wrestlers are
self-motivated enough to do these things that they don’t have to be bullied in
order to prove it. In my opinion, the upper management bullying has nothing to
do with testing toughness and has everything to do with being a dick. Tough or
weak, nobody wants to be treated like that. Nobody at all.
Another example of backstage misconduct comes from Bill
DeMott, an NXT trainer who back in 2015 resigned from the company when he was
being accused of bullying his trainees. He would make them perform dangerous
drills, he would make bigoted slurs at them, he’d sexually harass them, and
there are even stories of him pulling a gun on his students. Again, this awful
human being resigned from WWE; he wasn’t fired. Maybe if there’s enough
pressure put on the company, JBL will leave on his own too. It’s farfetched,
but there’s no sense in feeling hopeless just yet.
My only wish is that Mauro Ranallo can find peace in his
life outside of WWE. Bipolar disorder is no joke and it’s even worse when the
person is being bullied or harassed in the way he has. Mental illness dilutes
your defenses when it comes to taking in trauma or other negative events. It’s
not a matter of not being tough. It’s just the way mental illness works.
Mauro, if you’re reading this somewhere out there, I wish
you a speedy recovery from your recent bout of depression. I’m sad to see you
leave the WWE, but I’m also happy that you can get away from that troglodyte
JBL and everybody who condones his evil behavior. You’re easily my pick for
Best Television Announcer in 2017 and every year beyond that.
And as for you, JBL, enjoy your Most Disgusting Promotional
Tactic award when you eventually get it. Let’s see you mock that on Bring It to
the Table.
***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 21***
Speaking of bullies and douche-bags, I bet you all have been
waiting patiently for something god-awful to happen to Roger Zee. You’d be
right for wanting that. Ever since the beginning of Demon Axe, he slew
countless people, tortured his worst enemies, brainwashed the weak-minded, and
did it all in the name of anachronistic values. I appreciate your patience
throughout this reading adventure, but you’ll have to keep waiting. Chapter 21
will be dedicated to Raven and Shawn doing battle with King Triscloud, though
ever so reluctantly since he has a mind-controlling crown of thorns wrapped
around his head. Instead of trying to kill him, they’re going to try to hold
him down and pry the crown free. Good luck, you two!
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“What kind of a name for
a gun nut is Wayne La Pierre? Doesn’t that sound kind of fruity to you? “Hi,
I’m Wayne Crowley
-George Carlin-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Laughter is the best medicine and the same is true for
recovering from mental illness triggers. Remember that, folks.
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Take a Swing
Karl Wight stood in the middle of Renegade Gym’s wrestling ring with his muscular arms crossed over his protruding chest and his fierce eyes staring daggers into the wall clock. With every tick-tock of the second hand, his muscles got tighter, his eyes bulged out, his lips were tightly pursed, and the vein in his bald head looked ready to explode. He wore his gray Renegade Gym’s sweatshirt, black wrestling shorts, and blue wrestling boots with pride, part of that pride being he always showed up to work on time and ready to go.
And then there was Josh Tweed, a skinny twenty-something in a black tank top and purple sweatpants. He strutted into the gym with no concern about rushing, just bobbing his head to his iPod music, which was blasting into his oversized headphones. He approached the ring with even more swagger before dropping his gym bag, iPod, and headphones to the floor. He jumped up to the ring apron and stepped through the ropes to start his lesson with the much larger Karl Wight, who was still fuming after staring at the clock for so long.
In a low wolf’s growl, Karl said, “I thought we agreed to start training at eight o’clock. It’s eight-thirty. You’re a half hour late, buddy. What’s your excuse this time?”
“Look, man, I’m sorry about showing up late, but I was caught in traffic and there was no getting around it,” said Josh while waving his hands defensively.
The 300 lb. man beast of a trainer popped his protégé on the forehead with his palm and then waved his sausage finger in his face. “You’d better listen to me good, Mister. I’d better not hear another lame ass excuse come out of your mouth. Show up on time, get your ass in gear, and get ready to exercise. You really think Vince McMahon or Dixie Carter are going to hire you if you keep coming up with bullshit excuses?!”
“I’m sorry, coach, it is what it is,” said Josh, for lack of a better way to sooth his teacher’s nerves.
The enraged behemoth grabbed Josh Tweed by the shirt and rammed him back into one of the turnbuckles, eliciting a response of quick breathing, wide eyes, and stuttering from his pupil. “No, you son of a bitch! It’s not like that at all! One of these days I’m going to break you! And when you break, I doubt you’ll ever fuck up again! Do you understand me?!” For good measure, Karl slapped Josh across the face with his meaty palm. “I said do you understand me?!”
“Okay, okay! It’s cool, Mr. Wight! It’s all good! Just let me go and don’t hurt me!” said Josh in a rushed, wimpy voice.
Karl grabbed his student by the hair and pulled him to the center of the ring. The poor kid was on the verge of pissing his pants when Karl ducked his protégé’s head down, double under-hooked both arms, and threw him backwards. Josh let out a feral cry as the resounding thud of landing on the mat sent a lightning bolt up his spine.
“If you would have been here thirty minutes ago, you could have learned that move in a less destructive way!” bellowed Karl. “That move is called a Butterfly Suplex. As you can tell, it’s just as painful for your arms as it is for your back. If you would have landed on your head, that would have spelled disaster for your neck too. I’m glad to know at least some of my teachings are paying off.”
Josh grabbed onto the ropes and pulled himself off the ground, still sore, still bruised, still wobbly. Karl ducked down to get in position so that his student could try the move on him. Josh would have loved nothing more than to dunk this jerk-off on his back, but his arms were trembling and too pain-wracked to get a good double under-hook.
“For Christ’s sake, man! This isn’t a gay porn movie! I don’t want to be stuck here all day long!” screamed Karl. Josh tried again to keep the under-hooks in, but the juggernaut of a trainer said, “Time’s up!” and flipped the poor kid on his back. With his back feeling like knives are going through it, Josh tried to roll over on his knees, but he kept getting his face shoved by Karl’s boot. “Get up, damn it! Get up!”
Josh Tweed was on the verge of breaking, but not into a puddle of tears like Karl Wight had hoped. Instead the little beanpole, threw a low blow at his teacher, who caught the kid’s arm, hooked it, and threw him back for another Butterfly Suplex. Karl just kept on giving Butterfly Suplexes to his pupil over and over again. One slam on the mat. Two. Three. Four. Josh’s body felt like he’d been crushed by a falling piano. Standing up was a chore that required a firm, motherly grip on the top and middle ropes.
“You do realize that this is a wrestling exhibition I’m putting you through, right? As such, you’re supposed to fight back and actually gain some leverage over me. That’s how you look good in your matches. But hey, we don’t have to worry about you looking good in the ring. You’ll lose for just about anybody they put in front of you. Hell, I just took you to Suplex City, bitch!” taunted Karl.
“I ain’t no bitch!” screamed Josh at the top of his lungs. When Karl tauntingly asked him to repeat himself, he obliged, “I ain’t no bitch! You are the worst teacher in the history of wrestling! Even if I showed up on time, you’d still act like a spoiled little boy! Screw you and your family too!”
“Oh yeah?” asked Karl as he raised his eyebrows. “And what’s the alternative? Because no matter which wrestling school you go to, there’s always going to be a teacher who treats you like this! It’s called tough love! All wrestlers go through it eventually! You think you’re getting a free pass just because I hurt your damn feelings?! Newsflash: there are no handouts in this industry! If you want a handout so badly, then go back to your job as a convenience store clerk and go on welfare! Hell, given your performance today, Tax Day is my new favorite day of the year!”
The stress of Karl’s words brought Josh to his knees. It took a lot of strength for him to keep from bursting into tears. There was no way he was going to let this asshole see him like this. He lifted one leg and from there he stood up without the aid of the ropes. He was still sore all over, but his newfound aggression allowed him to block out the pain.
Karl got out of the ring temporarily, dug into his own gym bag, and returned to the squared circle with a gold and diamond-encrusted championship belt. “You see this, Josh? You see this piece of hardware? I earned it back when I was your age by fighting through the pain, scratching and clawing, and never giving up. Here, I want you to hold it for a minute.”
Josh took the title and stared at it in his arms with eye-bulging intensity. He loved the way it felt. Just holding something that expensive looking made him feel like a hero. This too was his dream: to scratch and claw to the top of the mountain and never look down. But of course, Karl pissed in his Cheerios once again with, “That’s as close to a world championship as you’re going to get my friend.”
Mr. Tweed slowly lifted his head and made brutal eye contact with his harsh trainer. They spent the world’s longest minute gazing at each other before Josh did the unthinkable and dropped the belt at his master’s feet. Karl looked down at his belt and said, “Pick that up, you stooge!”
“How about you bend over in front of me and pick it up yourself, you homo,” said Josh with bravery in his voice.
Karl got closer into his student’s face and said, “With that kind of disrespectful bullshit going for you, it’s amazing you’re allowed to work here at all. I’m so disappointed in you, Josh Tweed. Heh, what kind of a last name is that for a wrestler?”
As Karl doubled over to pick up his title, Josh summoned the hulking strength to double under-hook his mentor’s arms and throw him backwards in his own version of a Butterfly Suplex. The loud thud of Karl’s back hitting the mat wasn’t as bad as the surprise of it all, as evidenced by the teacher’s slight yip from taking his bump.
As the master laid on his back staring at the ceiling in shock wondering just what the hell happened, Josh Tweed stood over him and said, “You’re right. That Butterfly Suplex is one hell of a move.”
The other surprise of the morning? Karl Wight couldn’t be mad about it at all. He chuckled and said, “You sneaky bastard. You got me good. You got me real’ good. Maybe instead of being a jobber, you could be one of those tricky heel characters. You’re already sounding like the perfect bad guy to me.”
“Take a good look at the bad guy!” said Josh as he stretched his arms out crucifix style and did his best Razor Ramon impression.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Josh. We’ve still got an entire day of drills to get through. And then I’m going to teach you my favorite move of all time. You don’t see it much in wrestling anymore, but it used to be really popular in the 90’s.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“The pile-driver!”
Josh’s machismo faded into a look of concern followed by a gulp of saliva. Meanwhile, Karl Wight was still on his back chuckling like a madman.
And then there was Josh Tweed, a skinny twenty-something in a black tank top and purple sweatpants. He strutted into the gym with no concern about rushing, just bobbing his head to his iPod music, which was blasting into his oversized headphones. He approached the ring with even more swagger before dropping his gym bag, iPod, and headphones to the floor. He jumped up to the ring apron and stepped through the ropes to start his lesson with the much larger Karl Wight, who was still fuming after staring at the clock for so long.
In a low wolf’s growl, Karl said, “I thought we agreed to start training at eight o’clock. It’s eight-thirty. You’re a half hour late, buddy. What’s your excuse this time?”
“Look, man, I’m sorry about showing up late, but I was caught in traffic and there was no getting around it,” said Josh while waving his hands defensively.
The 300 lb. man beast of a trainer popped his protégé on the forehead with his palm and then waved his sausage finger in his face. “You’d better listen to me good, Mister. I’d better not hear another lame ass excuse come out of your mouth. Show up on time, get your ass in gear, and get ready to exercise. You really think Vince McMahon or Dixie Carter are going to hire you if you keep coming up with bullshit excuses?!”
“I’m sorry, coach, it is what it is,” said Josh, for lack of a better way to sooth his teacher’s nerves.
The enraged behemoth grabbed Josh Tweed by the shirt and rammed him back into one of the turnbuckles, eliciting a response of quick breathing, wide eyes, and stuttering from his pupil. “No, you son of a bitch! It’s not like that at all! One of these days I’m going to break you! And when you break, I doubt you’ll ever fuck up again! Do you understand me?!” For good measure, Karl slapped Josh across the face with his meaty palm. “I said do you understand me?!”
“Okay, okay! It’s cool, Mr. Wight! It’s all good! Just let me go and don’t hurt me!” said Josh in a rushed, wimpy voice.
Karl grabbed his student by the hair and pulled him to the center of the ring. The poor kid was on the verge of pissing his pants when Karl ducked his protégé’s head down, double under-hooked both arms, and threw him backwards. Josh let out a feral cry as the resounding thud of landing on the mat sent a lightning bolt up his spine.
“If you would have been here thirty minutes ago, you could have learned that move in a less destructive way!” bellowed Karl. “That move is called a Butterfly Suplex. As you can tell, it’s just as painful for your arms as it is for your back. If you would have landed on your head, that would have spelled disaster for your neck too. I’m glad to know at least some of my teachings are paying off.”
Josh grabbed onto the ropes and pulled himself off the ground, still sore, still bruised, still wobbly. Karl ducked down to get in position so that his student could try the move on him. Josh would have loved nothing more than to dunk this jerk-off on his back, but his arms were trembling and too pain-wracked to get a good double under-hook.
“For Christ’s sake, man! This isn’t a gay porn movie! I don’t want to be stuck here all day long!” screamed Karl. Josh tried again to keep the under-hooks in, but the juggernaut of a trainer said, “Time’s up!” and flipped the poor kid on his back. With his back feeling like knives are going through it, Josh tried to roll over on his knees, but he kept getting his face shoved by Karl’s boot. “Get up, damn it! Get up!”
Josh Tweed was on the verge of breaking, but not into a puddle of tears like Karl Wight had hoped. Instead the little beanpole, threw a low blow at his teacher, who caught the kid’s arm, hooked it, and threw him back for another Butterfly Suplex. Karl just kept on giving Butterfly Suplexes to his pupil over and over again. One slam on the mat. Two. Three. Four. Josh’s body felt like he’d been crushed by a falling piano. Standing up was a chore that required a firm, motherly grip on the top and middle ropes.
“You do realize that this is a wrestling exhibition I’m putting you through, right? As such, you’re supposed to fight back and actually gain some leverage over me. That’s how you look good in your matches. But hey, we don’t have to worry about you looking good in the ring. You’ll lose for just about anybody they put in front of you. Hell, I just took you to Suplex City, bitch!” taunted Karl.
“I ain’t no bitch!” screamed Josh at the top of his lungs. When Karl tauntingly asked him to repeat himself, he obliged, “I ain’t no bitch! You are the worst teacher in the history of wrestling! Even if I showed up on time, you’d still act like a spoiled little boy! Screw you and your family too!”
“Oh yeah?” asked Karl as he raised his eyebrows. “And what’s the alternative? Because no matter which wrestling school you go to, there’s always going to be a teacher who treats you like this! It’s called tough love! All wrestlers go through it eventually! You think you’re getting a free pass just because I hurt your damn feelings?! Newsflash: there are no handouts in this industry! If you want a handout so badly, then go back to your job as a convenience store clerk and go on welfare! Hell, given your performance today, Tax Day is my new favorite day of the year!”
The stress of Karl’s words brought Josh to his knees. It took a lot of strength for him to keep from bursting into tears. There was no way he was going to let this asshole see him like this. He lifted one leg and from there he stood up without the aid of the ropes. He was still sore all over, but his newfound aggression allowed him to block out the pain.
Karl got out of the ring temporarily, dug into his own gym bag, and returned to the squared circle with a gold and diamond-encrusted championship belt. “You see this, Josh? You see this piece of hardware? I earned it back when I was your age by fighting through the pain, scratching and clawing, and never giving up. Here, I want you to hold it for a minute.”
Josh took the title and stared at it in his arms with eye-bulging intensity. He loved the way it felt. Just holding something that expensive looking made him feel like a hero. This too was his dream: to scratch and claw to the top of the mountain and never look down. But of course, Karl pissed in his Cheerios once again with, “That’s as close to a world championship as you’re going to get my friend.”
Mr. Tweed slowly lifted his head and made brutal eye contact with his harsh trainer. They spent the world’s longest minute gazing at each other before Josh did the unthinkable and dropped the belt at his master’s feet. Karl looked down at his belt and said, “Pick that up, you stooge!”
“How about you bend over in front of me and pick it up yourself, you homo,” said Josh with bravery in his voice.
Karl got closer into his student’s face and said, “With that kind of disrespectful bullshit going for you, it’s amazing you’re allowed to work here at all. I’m so disappointed in you, Josh Tweed. Heh, what kind of a last name is that for a wrestler?”
As Karl doubled over to pick up his title, Josh summoned the hulking strength to double under-hook his mentor’s arms and throw him backwards in his own version of a Butterfly Suplex. The loud thud of Karl’s back hitting the mat wasn’t as bad as the surprise of it all, as evidenced by the teacher’s slight yip from taking his bump.
As the master laid on his back staring at the ceiling in shock wondering just what the hell happened, Josh Tweed stood over him and said, “You’re right. That Butterfly Suplex is one hell of a move.”
The other surprise of the morning? Karl Wight couldn’t be mad about it at all. He chuckled and said, “You sneaky bastard. You got me good. You got me real’ good. Maybe instead of being a jobber, you could be one of those tricky heel characters. You’re already sounding like the perfect bad guy to me.”
“Take a good look at the bad guy!” said Josh as he stretched his arms out crucifix style and did his best Razor Ramon impression.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Josh. We’ve still got an entire day of drills to get through. And then I’m going to teach you my favorite move of all time. You don’t see it much in wrestling anymore, but it used to be really popular in the 90’s.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“The pile-driver!”
Josh’s machismo faded into a look of concern followed by a gulp of saliva. Meanwhile, Karl Wight was still on his back chuckling like a madman.
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